The music I chose fills the silence.
It’s not right, either.
The playlist is all wrong now that he’s said what he’s said, but I don’t have the brain power to shift the track onto something else.
I’m a whirl of?—
“Say something,” he pleads after eons of nothing. “P-Please, D-D-Denny.”
Like before, it’s that stutter, the one he’s ashamed of, the one his dad made a thousand times worse with his ‘pro-hockey players don’t have stutters, son,’ that rams home the truth.
My lips part, then firm. Then part again.
“If I wanted to kiss you… what would that look like?”
His shoulders sag. His relief is visible. His head even rocks back onto the headrest and I see his eyes close.
But he proves how perfect he is by rasping, “It means you have full access to my wardrobe.”
I can’t withhold the massive snort that escapes me, one that cascades into a thousand giggles.
He rocks his head to face me, a contented smile on his lips that’s wholly free from mockery. That’s…
God, I haven’t seen that in a long time.
He’s happy.
And I did that.
Unintentionally, but it’s mine, nonetheless.
I want to taste it?—
“I mean it.”
“I already steal your clothes,” I point out around a chuckle.
“Ah, but there’s the difference. It wouldn’t be stealing.”
“You wouldn’t bitch about it? The last couple weeks, you’ve been a real mood killer when I wear your jerseys.”
“Only because it’s torture watching you wear them.”
My amusement disappears. “Torture?”
He nods. Then reaches over. Tugs at the hem of my jersey.Hisjersey from our high school years. “Nothing sexier than seeing you in this, D.”
Sexy?
I look like a bag of potatoes lumped together.
Instead of asking if he needs his eyes tested, I blurt out, “Is that why you’ve been asking for your jerseys back?”
“My name. On you. Fuck.”
I lick my lips. Both turned on and disturbed.
Sure, I’ve noticed his pretty face. Who on campus hasn’t?! I may have even mooned over it, but he’s so far ahead.
